The Stars of Osgiliath
by Ten Thousand Stars
Summary: Faramir lists his loves under the stars in Osgiliath.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by J.R.R. Tolkien. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author: Ten Thousand Stars

THE STARS OF OSGILIATH

Osgiliath.

Never are the stars so close as in your sky. Never is silence so full of tiny sounds, the air so clear or the dew so sharply fresh. Nowhere have I found a place where I can rest like here. Nowhere in this world is a place I love better.

And this night is a night for thought. I find that here, nights often are. And I make use of them.

Tonight, I think of Boromir – Boromir, my brother. 

You showed yourself to me, dead and pale, with your hands still crossed over your breast and your broken sword still at your knee, despite the forces of the Rauros where your boat had danced in the rapids. The grace of the Mistress of the Golden Woods must have been with you. That was how I could tell, even before I was told, that your death had had purpose and meaning – had it not, the Lady would not have deigned to protect you. 

You, my brother. You came to me with your face pale and empty in death; everything that once was you was now somewhere in shadow, or perhaps, oh I hope for that, in light. My eyes saw, and my heart had to believe, that you were dead. But it was not until your horn, split in two, was salvaged from the rivershore, that I _knew_. 

When a brother's brother is dead, there are questions that need to be asked. Questions of time and generation, questions of loyalty and love. Did I love you, my brother? And where did you ever go, until now, that I could not follow?

Boromir.

I knew you well, and you were not easy to know. But for all your faults and all our differences, I did love you. And I have understood that in your final moments, you came to terms with the fate of our land, and you were happy, yes, you were proud, to leave it in the hands of the man I have come to love almost like a brother: Aragorn.

Aragorn, our king.

He knows how to listen to things silent and mute. He understands my love for Osgiliath, although I have never spoken of it to him – for he also knows how to read and hear unspoken human language; he listens carefully to words never uttered.

They say land does not speak? They say stone is silent, stone is dead? I laugh at that, I scorn the idea. Either they have never loved, or they have forgotten they ever did. Go to a place where your heart lies; everyone has that place, I believe; and you will hear. You will know.

Osgiliath. 

Anyone who ever lived in borderlands knows how to hide and how to fear. But he also knows how to cherish, to treasure, preserve and rejoice. We must not forget that this is a precious gift, one not given everyone.

Aragorn my brother, Aragorn my king. He has roamed borderlands, he has been an outcast. He knows. He understands.

I will never presume to be your equal, Aragorn, but with the smallest of gestures you convey your belief that we are. That is why I know I will always want to serve you. 

You have fallen on your knees before me, Aragorn; you have bowed your head before me and asked my forgiveness. I did not understand what for. For pride, you told me. For forcing me down from a superior position to hand me another, of less grandeur. My lord Aragorn, it was a position I had but had never desired, and therefore I have nothing to forgive. But you would not let me kneel before you, you my king, you my brother. I did, that one time, to acknowledge your reign, but you had me rise. I gave you the white rod, and you handed it back to me. I would have fallen at your feet, Aragorn. I would have fallen, and I would have needed your hand to help me rise – but you never allowed me to fall, and you made your help redundant. This is why I know I will always want to serve you.

Éowyn has come to me, but I know, without either of you telling me, that some of her heart, her mind and her soul, will always be yours and yours absolutely.

It does not mar or diminish my love for her, and not, I believe, hers for me. I am proud to have her. She knows the importance of choice, of dedication and pride, and she has lived with desperation, with her mind lost in the wilderness. She knows the importance of returning to finish what has begun, returning to seal that which needs to be whole. She will understand me and I her; we will know how to live and to face life bravely.

I see now what it is I have done tonight, under the stars in Osgiliath: I have listed my loves. No man can live his life, and claim that he has lived, without defining his loves to himself at least once. So I am a man who has lived, a man who lives and shall live.


End file.
